Just Beyond Time
by Vintersorg
Summary: Before Arthur's parents died they arranged an engagement with the Sarmatian princess Isolde. Now Arthur has sent his trusted scout Tristran to fetch his future wife, but will things go as planed? TristranOC obviously
1. Prologue

**JUST BEYOND TIME**  
by VINTERSORG

_We're like an old story  
Written down long ago  
In a book with ageing pages  
Hidden in the sand of time_

_We're not like an old story  
Retold so many times  
That there is no truth left  
Our faces lost in the folds of time_

_We're like the ones we were  
So many years ago  
Two kindred souls entwined  
Forever together in the web of time_

- - -

**Prologue**

The rain poured down and lightning split the sky while the thunder rolled outside the castle at Joyous Gard. In the main hall an old woman sat, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren at her feet. She had been an exquisite beauty in her time and although her hair was all white now the years had been kind to Guinevere.

"Tell us a story," they pestered her, "Yes, tell us a story! We want to hear about fearless knights, great adventures and far off lands; about fair princesses, daring sword-fights and magic spells!"

"All right, all right!" Guinevere laughed, holding up her hands in a submissive gesture. She loved children, her own and their own and their own own. She loved her family - full stop. "I will tell you a great, grand story which has all you asked for and a bit more. But...

"This story is not mine to tell, at least not in full, for I know less than half of all the twists and turns. It is a story of love and trust and betrayal, but also of brotherly love and friendship that could overcome any obstacle.

"I shall not pretend that this story has not moved me to both tears and laughter. Tears because it cuts deep in my heart, but also laughter because it's so tragicomical when all is out in the open.

"It all began a long time ago, years before the birth of my husband. Arthur's mother, the Briton lady Igraine, had left her husband Gorlois and their three daughters to wander the countryside with the battle-scarred Sarmatian knight Uther Pendragon. If she had known the consequences of her choice maybe she wouldn't have, but she had done this for a love so mad that no-one who has not experienced such a love can ever understand what it is like.

"I myself has done so, betraying my husband for the sake of his best friend, but this story has little to do with mine.

"In a dream the druid Merlin came to Igraine and told her she would bear the future king of all Britain. She told this to her lover who became suspicious, for he had fought the Picts for fifteen years. Igraine, who herself was related to the Pict leader, would not listen to her lover's fears and accusations, but promised him that he could choose a suitable wife to be a support for their son.

"Uther sent word and asked the King and Queen of the Roxolani tribe in Sarmatia for the hand of their daughter, the princess Isolde, in marriage to his son Arthur. He wished for a strong woman to stand by his son's side and knew of none better than a Sarmatian warrior princess.

"Queen Fiona was at first reluctant to promise her daughter away to anyone, feeling that it would come to no good and it was not their custom. But king Henzil, who himself had been a knight in Britain, felt that Arthur would need all the help he could get if it was true he was destined to be king over the Woad.

"Years past and the two grew strong, each on their own - one in the East and one in the West. Isolde became a fierce warrior, the foe of many an enemy and word spread of both her ruthlessness on the battlefield and of her breathtaking beauty. Arthur followed his father's footsteps and became the commander of the Sarmatian knights stationed at Badon Hill by Hadrian's Wall; a serious man and a great warrior who's fame spread across the Empire.

"Then the time came when Arthur, who had reached his twenty-fifth summer, wanted to meet with this woman whom his father had arranged for him to marry. He sent his scout, Tristran, to go to Sarmatia and bring back this woman to Britain.

"Looking back at it now it would have been better if he had sent her brother, Lancelot, who also was a knight under Arthur's command to fetch Isolde instead. Then maybe none of what would happen would have come to pass.

"But people are not always foreseeing - and who would have guessed that the reclusive knight would fall for the fair warrior princess and she for him?"

* * *

Ha! I can see old and grey Guinn telling stories to all her grandchildren before my inner-eye! Ack, I think it's so very cute. Le sigh... (dreamy look) I love Guinn, whatever people say about her.

• I couldn't find a suitable song lyric for the prologue so... (grins) I've written poetry! Wow, it's been way too long. Years ago I had this obsession with writing poetry, but it's been ages since last time.  
• I spell Tristran's name the way I do because (1) it's how it's spelled in the novelisation of the movie and (2) if you listen close it's how the name is pronounced in the movie, too.  
• The myths and legends rock my socks, but as you can see I've modified them slightly (ex. the whole Guinn becomes a nun is ignored and Isolde isn't engaged to Tristran's uncle but to Arthur).

**Please don't forget to review! It makes my day and I feel inspired to write more when I know someone reads my stories!**


	2. Chapter I

**JUST BEYOND TIME**  
by VINTERSORG

_And falling came so easily  
And for the first time  
You took life lightly  
And would it be worth trying_  
- Our Lady Peace

- - -

**Chapter I**

"Arthur, I can't!" the voice rang out across the training-grounds.

The ten knights and one commander had been out there for hours - sparring, shooting arrows, throwing daggers and wrestling. As Lancelot had 'brought down' Kay and made him yield Arthur had decided to ask him something, right then and there in front of all the knights.

They had all known about the engagement, but save for Arthur only Lancelot knew who the lucky woman was. Arthur had taken Lancelot a bit aside, but not too far and asked his friend when he could leave for Sarmatia and bring his sister, Arthur's fiancé Isolde, back with him.

"Don't get me wrong but I just can't." Lancelot pleaded with his best friend and commanding officer.

Arthur was stunned, this was the first time in all the eleven years he had known Lancelot that the dark knight had refused to do what was asked of him. He was even more stunned because he knew that if he had been in Lancelot's boots he would have jumped the chance.

"Why not?" he asked, wondering if his friend didn't like the idea of Arthur and Isolde. He really couldn't blame Lancelot for that, the girl was his younger sister after all.

"Why can't you ask Tristran instead?" Lancelot inquired, annoyed with his friend because he just couldn't take a no. "He's perfect for this job."

"Why, Lancelot?" he was confused, very confused. "I thought you'd jump the chance at seeing your family again."

"I..." the Sarmatian began, sighing and shaking his head softly, "I'm afraid that I would betray your trust, that I won't return if I meet them with only two years left in Roman service."

The other knights had gathered around the two, curious about what was going on and a bit surprised to find out Arthur's fiancé happened to be Lancelot's sister - a real Sarmatian princess. None of them had really thought about Lancelot has a prince for many years and no-one ever thought about Arthur as half-Sarmatian, although they knew he was.

"I'm sorry, Lancelot," the commander sighed, patting the other man on his shoulder in a way of saying there was no hard feeling between them. "I didn't think about that."

"Send Tristran," advised Lancelot with a smile, "I'd love to see my sister again, she was eight years old last time I saw her."

"Okay," Arthur smiled in return, turning to the silent knight who also had walked over to watch the exchange, "When can you leave to the Roxolani tribe and fetch my fiancé Isolde?"

"Tomorrow. At dawn." the man answered shortly, leaving to make ready for the long trip across the Empire.

- - -

The journey was both harder and easier than Tristran had expected. It was a bit longer than it had seemed on the maps in Arthur's study, but to make up for that he didn't run into any Roman patrols anywhere. Even though most of the journey was outside of Roman territory both he and Arthur had suspected that there would be some Romans somewhere at least.

Roughly four weeks had been spent inside the Empire, two from the Wall down to the south coast of the Britannian Province, three days on the boat from Britannia to Gaul and then almost one and a half weeks going east to Germania. Then he was supposed to go south-east for almost two months until he reached the western coast of the Black Sea. Five months, that was how longe that took, but he didn't complain. Tristran liked being on his own, and with his horse and falcon he was never truly alone.

That was the easy part of the journey, because after that it was a matter of _finding_ the Roxolani tribe. They could be anywhere from the Danube and way up north from there. No, scratch that. They could be south of the Danube as well, in the East Roman Empire.

Lancelot, who of course knew all about the tribe he had left thirteen years ago at mature age of twelve, had said that they most likely had their winter-camp at the western or northern shore of the Black Sea. Tristran had already prepared himself for months of riding around Sarmatia looking for the tribe, he had his money on them being in the north-east, but decided to see if Lancelot was right first.

- - -

The sun had reached zenith and was on its way west across the sky as Tristran finally spotted a Sarmatian camp somewhere off the the horizon. It took him almost an hour to reach it. With each passing minute he noticed that it was a rather large camp just by the water, people walked around doing this or that. Some he noticed were sharpening knives, daggers and the occasional sword while others were preparing food.

"This is the Roxolani tribe?" he asked more than stated in the Sarmatian tongue, silently wondering if his eastern accent was too strange for them to comprehend, his voice almost daring them to contradict him.

"It is," a tall man said, he was in his late fifties but was still strong and broad shouldered. It took Tristran a moment to understand what the man said, their accents were actually quite different. "Who are you?"

"I am Tristran," he answered, bowing his head slightly in a sign of respect, this was probably their king, Henzil. "Artorius Castus sent me to fetch princess Isolde."

A woman, also in her fifties, walked up next to the man. She eyed him suspiciously, before speaking.

"I am Fiona," she introduced and then nodded to the man who spoke earlier, "This is my husband Henzil." Adding with a slightly mocking tone, "We are the king and queen."

Although he had guessed who they were he was slightly taken back. They looked just like the other tribesmen, save maybe for their tattoos and they didn't seem to take their titles very seriously. Had they been Roman they would each have looked like a jewellery shop and would be holding court in a large silk tent. They were not Roman of course and because of that they didn't think they were holier than anyone else, they were equal to all and none.

Tristran nodded and dismounted his horse, wondering who of the growing number of tribe members gathered this mysterious warrior princess was. He almost laughed at himself himself when he thought of her like that, she most likely only referred to herself as a warrior, the princess part was added by the caravans to make her sound more exotic in their numerous tales.

"Have you by chance heard anything about a Sarmatian knight named Lancelot?" the queen asked, her tone was slightly hopeful.

"He is also stationed at Badon Hill." Tristran didn't want to make the woman disappointed in her son that he had passed up the chance of seeing them, but he didn't want to lie either. Half the truth is true even though often misleading, he thought silently.

The look on her face was hard to read. It looked like the wheels in her head spun around, but she didn't seem very angry.

"Stay for dinner," she said with a small smile, there was something about her look now that made him think her sly, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Isolde is not here right now."

"This is Gareth, Lancelot's and Isolde's brother," introduced Fiona, dragging a boy of fifteen or sixteen summer out from the gathered crowed. "He'll help with you your horse."

The boy lead Tristran to the other side of the camp where the tribe's horses stood in a makeshift enclosure. Gareth looked just like a younger version of Lancelot, something which was slightly disturbing. The boy was trying to engage the strange visitor in conversation, but found himself only receiving monosyllables in answer.

"Nice, they're going to have a perky ride," Gareth joked as he took a seat next to his cousin by the fire. "He seems just a stoic as she is."

"Who?" a woman's voice asked and the boy looked up almost scared.

Tristran had already seen her ride into the camp, though her brother had apparently missed the dark woman on the huge black horse. The instance Tristran had seen her he was sure of who she was. There was something royal yet wild about her whole appearance, like the tales caravans from the east had brought with them of her.

She looked tall, maybe just a few inches shorter than he was, her long hair was black and curly like her brother's and she wore strange markings tattooed on her face. An upside-down turned Y with two dots on each side and four below it just above her nose between her eyebrows. Three vertical lines above and below her left eyebrow, left to her eye, each the same length but descending diagonally to the left. Last, but not least, a large knot of vines on her left cheek going up next to the vertical lines and a little down her neck.

Her clothes were the usual Sarmatian breeches and tunic, although her boots seemed Roman or maybe even Greek. On the horse's saddle there was a quiver filled with arrows next to a traditional Sarmatian scabbard holding a sword, her bow was secured on her back next to another scabbard with a sword. She had apparently been out hunting, because tied to the saddle was also five dead rabbits.

"Isolde!" Fiona called and walked over to her daughter. Gesturing to him she said with a forced smile, "This is Tristran, he has come to bring you to Britain to meet with your fiancé Arthur."

"Wonderful," the woman said sarcastically and dismounted her horse gracefully. Well on the ground she looked over at Tristran who's eyes had been on her as her mother had presented them. She gave him a small nod in way of greeting and acknowledgement and he returned it.

Silently Tristran wondered how happy she and Arthur could get. He would probably find her too cold and exotic for his liking and she would probably hate the way he would treat her like a delicate thing that would easily break, allowing her little to no freedom for hunting and such. At least the other knights would have something to amuse them.

- - -

"Take this," Fiona told her daughter, handing her two cups with some kind of warm liquid in. "Give him the other one," she nodded once in the direction of the knight from Britain who had come earlier that day. "It's chill up there and you'll be spending months on the road together, better get acquainted."

Tristran was sitting up on the hill overlooking the sea, Isolde could see the wind playing with his hair and braids. To her he looked like some sort of animal, an arrogant, wild animal. With a small sigh she nodded and started walking towards the hill.

"Here," she said and gave him one of the wooden cups, taking a seat next to him. Although they were western of the Black Sea in a broad sense the camp was at the southern shore of a small bay so the sun set over the water from the west shore of the creek.

He nodded his thanks and sipped the drink, finding it was some form of tea he took a bigger gulp and continued to watch the sea.

"What should I expect to see when we reach Britain?" asked Isolde after a while, sipping her drink as well. It tasted like warm water with some kind of strange extraneous flavour to it, but it wasn't an unpleasant taste.

"Rain," he answered before finishing his drink, his eyes still on the sun-rays playing across the water.

"Great," she said sarcastically, drinking a bit more and then curling her fingers around the wooden cup. Birds were flying low over the surface of the water, she noted. Sometimes striking down on a fish, most of the time they came back up with an empty beak or empty talons.

"Tristran, may I ask you a question?" she had finished her drink now and was feeling a lot warmer than she had moments earlier, she was looking at him from the corner of her eye. He was rather handsome, in a caveman sort of way.

He nodded, turning his head to look at her, "I thought you just did."

"Well then, may I ask you another question," she asked, quickly adding, "One that has nothing to do with asking about asking questions?"

"Go ahead," he replied, still looking at the woman next to him. He was feeling slightly amused and he didn't know why, he never felt like that in the company of anyone.

"I figure you're from way east," she stated, he nodded although he knew this was a simple observation and not the actual question. "You've been away for over ten years - mostly in Britain, I guess - do you ever miss it? The far east?"

"Occasionally," he admitted, "But anyplace is as good as the next to me."

"Must be nice," she said and caught herself smiling, she never smiled, that was strange. "Being able to feel content wherever you are."

- - -

Isolde's smile hadn't gone unnoticed down by the camp, at least not by her father. Henzil narrowed his eyes at the two figures at the hill. One was the strange man that Arthur had sent to bring his daughter away from her family to Britain, the other was Isolde herself. His daughter Isolde who never smiled or joke, who rarely spoke and only if it was important. She wasn't one to waste breath or chatter. The last time he had seen her smile was a week after the Romans had taken her brother Lancelot away, a day before she finally realised she might never see her beloved brother ever again.

The man had also been very silent, very much like Isolde, although he seemed more emotionless. Something was wrong here, something was at work and it was right before his eyes.

"What have you done?" Henzil accused his wife who had come to stand by his side, also watching the two on top of the hill.

"Nothing," she purred, understanding her little potion had begun to work its magic. "I've done nothing at all."

Fiona smiled happily, thinking about poor, poor Arthur. The man deserves no better, she thought, sending someone other than my oldest son to take my daughter away from me. No, she had done nothing but helping nature a little.

She knew her daughter was one of the Original Warriors, old souls walking again in new bodies. There were only a certain number of those souls and she had guessed Tristran was one as well. The souls was said to belong to the first twenty horse masters that the goddess Ilona had put on the earth - ten men and ten women paired off.

Fiona had given them a small brew that would make their souls see each other, putting her hopes on the Lady of Luck, one in ten and their souls belonged together. What if it the result just served her means, she couldn't help that, now could she?

* * *

Just trust Fiona to get the wrong idea about thing, but I guess Tristran didn't help her any (grins). This was fun writing and I hope it was fun reading too! 

• The idea of old souls comes from the Celtic mythology, which is connected to the Sarmatian by the Magyar culture.  
• Ilona is the name of the Magyar Mother of Life (i.e. Mother Earth / the earth goddess)

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	3. Chapter II

**JUST BEYOND TIME**  
by VINTERSORG

_Round and round in circles  
live a life of solitude  
'till we find ourselves a partner someone to relate to  
Then we slow down,  
before we fall down.  
We've got stars directing our fate  
and we're praying it's not too late  
'cause we know we're falling from grace_  
- Robbie Williams

- - -

**Chapter II**

Day dawned without the promise of rain Tristran was so used to from his years in Britain. The sky was clear blue, almost cerulean like the sea next to the camp. Most of the tribe was gathered to see them off, among those standing closest to him and Isolde as they strapped bags with provident and dried horse dung to fuel the campfires with to their horses' saddles were the woman's parents and many siblings.

Gareth's cocky smile was not present, instead his lips were set in a stern line that told an observer he made a brave attempt not to cry. Three young girls — whom Tristran had learnt last night were younger sisters Lancelot never had met — sobbed quietly as they tried to help their big sister make ready for her journey. The twins, Balin and Balan, clung to their mother's tunic, clearly not understanding what was going on, only sad because everybody around them were.

« We will go to the Iazyges tribe before we head for Britannia » said Isolde quietly to Tristran in the Sarmatian tongue, he had begun to understand her dialect better as he had listened to the other tribe members talking around the fire last evening.

« Why? » he asked as she handed him his saddle bags. He did not wish to tarry on the road, because he had been away for half a year already and they were actually expected home around this time. Not that they would make it in less than three months even it they would ride straight to Britain this very moment, but it was a matter of principal.

« My older sister Iseult married a man of the Iazyges tribe some years ago » explained Isolde. « I will not leave without having given her my goodbyes. »

Tristran caught himself almost sighing and gave the woman a nod in reply. He understood her need to say farewell to her sister, something he had not been allowed to by the Romans when they recruited him. Shailiha had been away hunting when they had come and the Romans would not wait for the hunters to return.

When Isolde hugged her siblings goodbye and they whispered their farewells Tristran mounted his horse and watched them. The only one not teary eyed seemed to be Isolde herself whose face was emotionless and betrayed nothing, but her eyes were like an open book for him and he could see it pained her to part with them.

- - -

Two days passed in the saddle and Tristran was glad to discover Isolde was an accomplished rider who could spend long hours in the saddle without needing any rest. He should of course have guessed she — Sarmatian born and raised as it where — probably learnt to ride before she could walk and take care of the horses before she could talk as was the custom of their people.

They only stopped for short breaks to let the horses rest and so that they could eat before they were off once again. The knight silently hoped the woman knew where they were going because on the third day the terrain began to changed drastically into something that was as close to a natural patch-work as he even had thought possible. Steppe changed into deserts into forests into marches and back to steppe. If she didn't know the way through they would be lost in the labyrinth of different vegetation types for a very long time.

« We are soon there » she said as if answering his thoughts when they had reached the edge of what appeared to be a stone desert. « We have to camp here and set out a first light tomorrow or we will be lost. »

He decided she knew what she was doing – not once had she led them astray in one of the deserts they already had crossed, no matter how difficult they were to navigate. With a small nod in agreement they dismounted and wordlessly divided the chores between them.

Isolde was left with the task of unsaddling the horses and brush them down while Tristran set up a fire and prepared food. It was a strange comfort not to have to search for firewood as they had been given a few bags of dried horse dung to use as fuel for fires; he had actually forgotten that dried droppings from both horses and cows were excellent to use when wood was hard-pressed to find.

Not after long the fire was burning bright and Tristran had dinner half finished. He had sent the hawk away to catch her own — and probably richer — food. Tea made on the leaves of some plant not far from their night camp and bread made of water, flour and tiny bit of salt were what they were having for dinner along with a thin slice of dried horse meat. It wasn't much but it would be satisfying.

« Tell me more of Britain » urged Isolde as she sat down next to Tristran by their small campfire. « Apart from the rain, how is it there? »

She had put out their bedrolls and finished taking care of and unpacking their horses. Those aspects of making camp had been taken care of by the time Tristran had dinner ready.

As she sat down next to him Tristran placed a wooden cup containing tea in her hands and motioned for her to help herself to the rest of their spartan dinner.

« The land is always richly green, save for in winter when it is clad in white and grey » began Tristran, picturing the island before his inner eye as he took a sip of his own tea. « Thick woods and groves; lush green meadows and field. There is hardly ever a day when there isn't a thick mist covering the woods and fields, and that serves to give the land an over earthly feeling. »

He had never thought as Britain as anything else but a post, some place he was put on to do a job and nothing else. But trying to describe the island without being objective seemed impossible at that moment. No, the island had become dear to him and it was a very beautiful place indeed.

« The natives to the land are called Woads – some say they are blue demons » he told her with an uncharacteristic smile to his voice. « They might be blue, but they are only human. »

« You call them Woads because they use woad to paint themselves? » Isolde asked and went on speaking when the man only shrugged his shoulder in reply, telling her he did not know. « We use it too. To dye the loincloths blue for the Spring Hunt and we use it for bodypaint for the Hunt. »

They were silent for a few moment, both lost in thought before Isolde asked a question he knew referred to his own tribe, « Don't you? »

« I don't remember, it was a long time ago » he answered honestly after another few silent moments. « Our cloths were red and so were the body pattern for the Hunt, I think. »

« Ochre? »

« Yes » he agreed, it made much sense because red ochre was common where he came from, it was even used as a remedy for several illnesses.

The fire sparkled and cast its yellow-orange-red light on them along with its radiating warmth. It was rather comfortable to converse with Tristran, she thought, he was very much like her when it came to carrying on a conversation – neither pushing nor expectant, but still present.

« Did you,-- do you enjoy the Spring Hunt? » Tristran asked after another few moments of comfortable silence between the pair.

« Yes » she replied simply and fell silent to take a sip from her tea, but the two knew she would elaborate the answer soon.

« I've participated since I was thirteen and ever since my sister married I am the one who prepare and ready the Hunt each year, though, that particular headache is now Gareth's to bear. »

« How stressful it must be indeed » joked Tristran and he silently asked himself where that had come from.

« You'd never know » she sighed and put on an air of mock fatigue, following suit and jesting even though she too didn't know why, « You have to make sure the paint is made correctly and that there is enough breechcloths and spears – now don't forget bows and arrows, they that are so extremely important. »

« I have only participated once when I was fifteen — the Romans came not long after — but that is something I always wondered about » said Tristran, once again serious. « Why do we carry bows on the Hunt? They do no damage to the bear – wouldn't it be more effective to have an extra spear instead? »

« More effective? Yes. More interesting? No » replied Isolde. « The Spring Hunt is supposed to be dangerous, otherwise it would not be in the spring nor would be prey be she-bears » she explained. « The bear is fiercely protective of its cubs and will go into a frenzy if humans come too close, the arrows only serve to anger it further, which is what we _do_ want. »

« It's not very practical » argued Tristran, but the skewed logic appealed to him.

« Who said it should be practical? The Hunt is _traditional_ and the angrier the bear is the harder it is to kill and the bigger challenge it will present. »

When she finished speaking she looked at him and traced the tattoos at his cheekbones with the fingers of her right hand; her thumb touched the left tattoo and with a fluid motion her hand turned and her forefinger caressed the right one a moment later.

« This didn't even occur to you? » Isolde asked still looking at the man next to her, catching his eyes, one hand resting fully against his cheek still.

She knew what the tattoos meant. He had brought down the bear on his first hunt, only then would one get the claw marks on ones cheekbones. That one so young — just barely an adult — would do such a thing was rare, but it really didn't surprise her this man had.

« Not at the time. And years later it just seemed odd to me » he admitted and covered her hand with one of his own, wondering if it was only the firelight that made her eyes sparkle or if it was chronical.

Isolde tried to come up with some kind of response, but the man's eyes seemed to eat the words before they even reached her mind – let alone her mouth. They his eyes were like a thick red honey she decided, almost like dark amber, but didn't have those specks you often found in the orange-red stones and in human irises. They were like a dark liquid and the light from the fire made them swim. It was hypnotic and she had to force herself out of the half trance she felt herself being put under.

« You should rest » she forced herself to say and pried her hand from in between his cheek and hand. « I will take the first watch. »

- - -

Isolde had awoken Tristran a short hour past midnight and given him instructions to wake her an hour before sunup so that they could pack and make ready to leave when the first rays spilled out over the horizon. He had nodded and reassured her in not to many words that he would have even if she hadn't even mentioned it.

True to his words — or lack there of, as he had just told her in a look — they had both been up an hour before sunrise and were ready to set out as the sun barely had cast enough light for one to see correctly.

He was greatly impressed by Isolde's sense of direction. Even though she asked him to keep an eye out for certain landmarks she was the one who managed to take them from one point to another without getting utterly lost in between.

Just a few hours before sundown they finally saw the last of the the stone desert as it edged onto another steppe. They agreed to get another mile or so between them and the desert before they made camp for the night.

This time the chores were reverse and Isolde took care of the fire and food while Tristran unpacked the horses and bushed them down. He was rather impressed to notice she had found anything not grass to make tea of, but decided not to inquire about what it was, the tea was drinkable after all.

« Tell me of Arthur » asked Isolde as they had eaten in silence for a few moments. « How is he like? »

« He is... » Tristran contemplated what to answer, it was a lot harder than what Britain was like. Because in contrast to Britain Arthur was a complex and levelled being who he had always liked, while the Roman province of Britannia was just an island.

« Arthur is a strange man » he finally decided. To be honest that was what he thought, because as much as Tristran was an enigma to everyone around him, Arthur was very much one too.

« He is part Briton and part Sarmatian, yet he puts Rome high on a pedestal. But unlike the Romans Arthur believes in equality and free will. Like the rest of us he is a knight and views us as his equals, very unlike every other Roman commander in the Empire; we can argue and disagree with him all we want without receiving any reprimands whatsoever. His is stern, but also one of the kindest men I have ever met – Dagonet not counted. His God is important to him — a Briton monk raised him after the death of his parents — yet he has never tried to convert us. »

« So he is a Christian. Do you think he'll expect _me_ to convert my faith? » Isolde asked. The religion of his men was one thing, she mused, but the religion of his wife another.

« Maybe » replied Tristran and then asked, « Would you? »

She remained silent for a while, thinking it over. Would she renounce her gods because someone she didn't know, but had been set to marry since the day she was born, asked her to?

« No » she simply answered. « Would you in my situation? »

She glanced at her companion from the corner of her eye, wishing for some reason she hadn't ask the last, he was looking down into his eat with a small frown between his eyebrows, something clearly bothering him. It was strange how much more open he seemed to be with showing feeling and emotions when it was only just the two of them, she thought, back in her tribe's camp he had appeared passionless – she too for that matter.

« What of Lancelot » she suddenly ask only to break the strained silence that had followed her reply. « Is he like Gareth, a breaker of many hearts, or is he monogamous? »

« Lancelot will settle for only one woman when pigs fly and cats bark » answered Tristran with an amused quality to his voice and the frown disappeared.

« Good to know » replied Isolde as she stood and stretched her arms above her head. « He used to say he was going to marry Iblis or no one else. »

« And she? » Tristran asked, musing over this new piece of information.

« Died five years ago, but she had promised the same. »

- - -

The rock desert had been since long been left behind and the pair had ridden over greening fields all day. Tristran's hawk had flown over their heads the entire time as if she was scouting the road ahead. The two humans had not spoken since the evening before, not even when Tristran had awoke Isolde to take over the watch. But it was a comfortable silence, they somehow knew on a subconscious level what they other meant with a certain gesture of look and that was enough.

It was just past noon when they could see a large Sarmatian camp on the horizon. The tribesmen had been able to see the riders for longer than the riders — save maybe for Tristran who seemed to be more hawk than human — had. Two children met the riders who had been riding at walking pace half way to the camp.

Zdravko had easily made out his aunt and had gathered his younger sister Jasna before running to meet the two riders. His sister had reluctantly followed, she didn't share his fascination with the warrioress. In all honesty she felt intimidated by the black haired woman with the many facial tattoos.

« Hello » the seven year old boy greeted the riders confidently, and his six year old sister echoed the words gingerly a moment later as she stood a bit behind her brother.

« You've grown » stated Isolde as she dismounted and helped her nephew into the saddle of her horse and then lifted up his sister in front of him.

« Pâpâ's been teaching me to use a sword » said Zdravko happily as his aunt begun to lead the horse towards the camp.

« Draco keeps dropping the sword » added his sister, using her brothers nickname.

« One handed or two handed sword? » Tristran who had until now been ignored asked.

The young boy looked at the man on the grey roan, taking him in as one does a curious beast. Like Isolde the man was travel clothed, the boy saw, and his horse carried just as many bags and weapons.

« Tristran » said Isolde, both to introduce him to the children and to get his attention, and then she presented the children, « Zdravko and Jasna. »

« Your sister's children » stated Tristran quietly. « They take after their father. »

Isolde caught herself almost smiling at the observation, she knew Tristran would be able to see that without even meeting the children's parents. Unlike Isolde's siblings and parents the boy and the girl on the horse had light auburn hair and green-brown eyes, features that could not come from the mother's side.

« Dejan is teaching you to wield a two handed sword, am I right? » Isolde asked her nephew and the boy nodded proudly.

« By time you will be strong enough to swing it without loosing it » said Tristran surely, careful not to mention that the boy looked so frail he was certain a gush of wind would finish him off.

« How long are you staying? » Zdravko asked; he had decided that this Tristran was brilliant (though, his little sister would say the man looked dangerous in the same manner as a scorpion does). « Can you teach me? »

« We're leaving early tomorrow » his aunt replied in the man's stead and she could rather feel than see — as she wasn't looking at anyone — that the scout was relieved they would not linger too long, but the boy was disappointed.

Not much later the quartet arrived at the camp of the Iazyges tribe and was greeted by a group of tribesmen – both children and adults.

Drejan smiled brightly when his eyes swept over the two riders and their mounts and when Isolde had successfully lifted the children safely down to the ground his eyes settled on his sister-in-law.

« Is it so, dearest sister, someone _finally_ managed to boil your frozen heart – have finally taken yourself a husband? » Drejan asked and closed the distance between the two and kissed both her cheeks.

« No » she simply answered, but returned the gesture of familiarity the greeting suggested and was caught in a similar embrace by her sister Iseult.

« Arthur sent me » clarified Tristran when had dismounted his horse and walked over to stand next to Isolde.

« So, you're here to say goodbye? » Iseult sadly asked her sister, receiving only a nod and a simple yes in reply.

« But you're staying the night here » the woman announced, glancing sideways to seek her husband's approval even though she didn't need it. Happy to see he seemed to be of the exact same opinion as her she added, « I won't have it any other way. »

« That's the plan » she agreed.

- - -

Several hours later the horses had been unpacked, Dejan's nephews Slavko and Stanislav had brushed them down before joining the rest of the tribe for dinner, and the saddles and various bags had been put in Iseult's and her husband's hut.

Iseult had taken to watching her sister eating and interacting with the people around her. It was hard for her to understand she would probably never again see her little sister in this life — what the gods hold in store for your next life no one knows — and wanted to burn the image of Isolde eternally into her memory. The way her eyes sparkled even though her face remained passive when someone told a great joke. How her flowing hair glistened like a dark river in the firelight and streamed down her shoulders. And her strange habit of scratching just below her ear with the opposite hand when she answered a tricky question.

It was by watching her sister that Iseult noticed something else and completely new to her sister's behaviour. She noticed the way Isolde and Tristran would communicate with one another without words and without either one of them really noticing. How she would ask something of him with a look or a small touch and he would reply accordingly and the other way around. That was a closeness she had never expected to see her sister be a part of, Isolde had always been more of a detached person who would never allow herself to be near enough to anyone to develop it – even her family.

She hoped she for ever could keep the memory of how Tristran touched sister's elbow when he would retire and how Isolde acknowledged with a soft look on her face. Silently she wondered if Isolde was even aware of the connection and would marry this man Arthur, whose father had arranged the engagement, without any second thoughts. She hoped not, because what were the chances another man could share this kind of link with her little sister?

- - -

A little more than one hour after Tristran had excused himself to go to bed the camp was quiet and most of the tribesmen had retired for the evening. Iseult found her sister wrapped tightly in an old travel-worn cloak she couldn't remember ever seeing before at the edge of the camp, looking out over the seemingly endless steppe.

Isolde didn't acknowledged her when she sat down next to her, but she knew her sister had sensed her presence long before she walked over.

« It's beautiful » said Iseult after a few moments of complete silence.

At first Isolde made no sign of having even heard, but after another few moments she turned her head and looked at her older sister and then back over the plain.

« Yes, it is » she agreed, falling silent again.

Moments past and the sisters just sat there and after what could have been mere seconds or long hours Isolde broke the quiet.

« Tristran tells me I will miss it when in Britain. »

« I'm sure you will, if what the Romans tell of the land is true » she replied, pausing before turning to her little sister and asking, « So, what's the story with him? »

« Arthur sent him to fetch me » was the answer delivered. « But you already know that. »

Iseult nodded and smiled playfully as she said, « No, I meant was What is between the two of you? »

« And I told you, he's to bring me to Britannia and my husband to be » replied the youngest woman, slightly annoyed.

« Isolde, you can't fool me » chortled Iseult. « It's more than that, isn't it? »

« No. I'm going to marry his commanding officer – and he's not even that good looking. »

Her big sister was rather simple minded when all was said and done: If you had regular sex your life had meaning, but only if you there was love in the relationship – mind you. To be honest it was short of a miracle Iseult only had two children and not ten, but prophylactic herbs might be the answer for that.

« Well, then why are you marrying him? » Iseult asked innocently.

« Iseult, I'm talking of Tristran. I never met Arthur » her sister responded annoyed.

« You're awfully familiar with each other » she sent back coyly, taking the mentioning of Tristran's name as a cue the subject was open.

« You're imagining things » her sister answered. « We've known each other for six days. »

« I know and that's why I'm asking. A really short time to reach the level of intimacy you share, don't you think? » Iseult asked rhetorically. « You know, you don't actually have to marry Arthur. An engagement is really only parents or guardians that say wouldn't it be _practical_ if our children married and then they all agree and that is what an engagement is. We've had a lot of dealings with Romans out here. »

« Father say,-- »

« And what does Mother say? Arranged engagements are not in our culture – betrothal full stop is not in our culture. How can the parents know what lie in their children's hearts? Right, they can't. »

« The Romans do it all the time » she pointed out when her older sister couldn't be easily reasoned with.

« That's because they're hereditarily stupid » came the reply.

« So you're saying I shouldn't even give _Artorius_ a change? » Isolde asked, stressing her fiancée's name and saying it in its formal form.

Iseult smiled brightly, it seemed she finally had got through that thick and stubborn skull of her sister's enough to make her at least play with the thought.

« You should give Tristran a change first and then you can think over what to do about Arthur » she advised her little sister, rising gracefully to her feet and leaving her sibling with the thought.

- - -

Moments of hours later Isolde found herself back at her sister's and brother-in-law's hut. Her and Tristran's bedrolls had been set up in the foreroom next to their packing.

« Where've ye been? » Tristran mumbled in his half asleep as Isolde lay down next to him and pulled her felt tighter to her body to keep the chill out.

« With my sister » she replied softly, feeling sleep slowly creep up at her and her consciousness slip away.

« I missed you » muttered her companion as he turned in his dazed state to lie face to face with her.

« I'm here » she mumbled back and fell asleep feeling herself being pulled against a warm body and a mussitated affirmation that sounded very much like umhu in her ears – and maybe it was, she was already sleep.

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A/N: Sorry it took me to long having this chapter up, I know I promised it would just be a day or two, but I ran into a writer's cramp and have just learnt what a pain in the back regions writing with an empty head is... I just wanted this chapter away as quick as possible so it's not re-read a million times and nitpicked like my others are... Anyhow, here is it, c. 11 pages in AppleWorks!

To explain what I meant about Isolde and Tristran feeling comfortable speaking with one another is that they subconsciously created a relationship that is very much alike that one I had with my grandparents (I spent a lot of time with them as a child – seeing as I grew up with a single mother). Neither one of us expects the other to talk nor demand the other to talk so when you do speak there's a mutual respect and nothing about the conversation is forced. This way you feel secure enough to just drop pretences and façades and you can talk about as good as everything you come up with.  
In one version of the legend Iblis is Lancelot's wife.  
Zdravko is a male name derived from the Slavic word _zdrav_ that means healthy .  
Jasna is a female name derived from the south Slavic word _jasno_ and means clear, sharp .  
Slavko is a male name coming from the Slavic word _slav_ that has the meaning glory .  
Stanislav is a male name put together by the Slavic words _stan_ (which means camp glory or government glory ) and _slav_.  
If you have regular sex your life has meaning, is that so? I can't take credit for this theory because it is the annoyed response/question by Thomas la Cour (Lars Brygmann) to Allan Fischer (Mads Mikkelsen) in the Danish TV series Rejseholdet when the latter has spent the entire episode pesting him for details about an ex-lover that he thinks la Cour should — you know — get reacquainted with (chuckles)

A/SN: Black currant and chocolate ice cream shakes are underestimated.

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**A very big THANK YOU to all my lovely reviewers:**  
**_LANCELOTTRISTANBABY_**_, **Priestess of the Myrmidon**, **BlackPaintedWhite**, **Elessar King of Gondor** (x2!), **op**, **Babaksmiles**, **Sandies** (x2!), **June Birdie**, and **newsieskane**._  
Sorry it took me so long to update, let's cross our fingers I won't take this long 'till I have the next chapter up!

BlackPaintedWhite: Woads is the degeneracy nickname for the celtic warriors who painted themselves with woad, so they did exist – in a way. The celtic people(s) living in Britain at the time was the Picts (Scots invaded from Ireland in the 5th century A.D. after the Roman Empire fully or at least partially had with drawn and left Britain to its own device).

Snadies: Oh, Guinevere was married to Arthur, only man she actually married, but she ran away with Lancelot to Joyous Gard and had a bunch of children and a load of luv (smiles) Though, in the legend she ends up in a nunnery... she's a Christian in the legend you know.

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**_Please REVIEW, this is my second ever fanfic and I need those reviews to keep feeling inspired to continue writing!_**


	4. Chapter III

**JUST BEYOND TIME**  
by VINTERSORG

_Was raised in a place I'm not sure anymore  
You hold out your arms to me like never before  
Stir up the ashes I know you despise  
Sometimes we cover our eyes_  
- Michael Merenda

- - -

**Chapter III**

Outside the hut a spring storm raged, yet Isolde woke up feeling both warm and safe. Safeness was a strange feeling, she lived after constant vigilance and had done so for as long as she liked to remember. But an unbidden memory came to her of a time when she used to feel happy and safe.

Safeness... Feeling safe was something she had always associated with walking up snuggled against her brother as a small child outside their parent's hut. Both of them wrapped in their father's huge fur cloak. The cloak had never been there when they fell asleep watching the stars, but their father always wrapped them in it instead of waking them up and taking them back inside the hut. Fuzzy safeness when Lancelot would give a great yawn and wipe his nose at the back of his hand and asked softly Castor, you awake? and she would snuggle closer and mumble a few more minutes, Pollux . Then their mother would exit the hut and give them a stern telling off for sleeping outdoors before she went off to find Henzil and give him one as well for letting them do so.

This was a different kind of safe, though. She wasn't sitting, leaning against her brother, she was lying tucked against someone's chest, wrapped in strong arms. The small part of her brain that wasn't engulfed in sleep told her it was Tristran's chest below her cheek.

She snuggled up closer to him, breathing in his scent. He smelt of horses and of smoke from last evening's fire; and then those smells that mixed and made him uniquely Tristran: green grass, leather, dried blood and bird plumes. In the logy state of mind she was even sure he smelt of sunshine and stardust.

Tristran had been awake since Iseult and Drejan had left the hut a handful of minutes earlier to help with the morning meal. He ran his hand over the left side of Isolde's back to rouse her from sleep – not that he minded her unselfconsciousness and the small content look she wore on her face just then. Having Lancelot's sister nestle against his side was only a nice fantasy that would earn him an earful if she woke up to find he'd done nothing to stop it. She had asked him about Arthur, Britain and the knights every given moment — and why wouldn't she? — and seemed excited in her own way to get there – or at least anxious.

Pulling the blanket closer around her body Isolde sat up, finding out it didn't help to keep the warmth.

« Slept well? » Tristran asked, his voice almost drowned out by the storm outside.

« Yes, and then you had to wake me up » she accused and glared at him in mock anger.

« We should stay until this weather dies » he said, effectively changing the subject and Isolde nodded in agreement.

Twisting her body around and leaning back she grab two tunics that were flung across the closest saddlebag. She handed Tristran his dark brown tunic and then proceeded to change out of her white sleeping tunic into the long midnight blue Sarmatian styled one she picked up for herself.

He had already finished dressing and was watching her intensely when she finished strapping on the greaves over her wool breeches and low boots. She tilted her head in question when she caught his gaze.

« What's so fascinating? » Isolde asked aloud when he wouldn't answer her unspoken question.

« You » he truthfully answered, still watching her and shaking his head slightly when she arched an eyebrow inquiring him to elaborate, although she knew he would say nothing more.

« Later » assured Tristran and crossed the foreroom to where she sat crouched down and bent down to kiss her forehead softly before grasping her hand and pulling her up.

Tristran grabbed his old travel-worn cloak, putting it around his shoulder and fastening it at the collar before pulling taking Isolde's fur rimmed one around her.

« Come, let's brave the weather. »

- - -

The rain was pouring down as if someone opened the dams of heaven all the while thunder and lightening cracked across the sky, occasionally hitting one if the tall iron bars that had been stabbed into the ground around the outer edge of the camp so that the lightening would leave horses, huts and humans alone.

Drejan was struggling with the preparations for the morning meal. The fire was hardly burning, the casserole was more like a watery soup than anything and the bread was as doughy as if it never been fried. All the while he battled against nature his wife did all to win over the weather's forces. Iseult had looked high and low for a canvas large enough to be put up as a shelter over the cooking fire, along with people willing to help set it up.

When Tristran and Isolde finally came to the fire a few of the tribesmen were battling the tarpaulin that certainly did not want to cooperate and Iseult had left them to their owe device in favour of saving the fire.

Drejan gave the two a knowing smile at their late arrival before he returned to cover the pots and pans. He had decided the two were lovers in denial and would have put in a snide remark if it hadn't been for the storm.

Isolde shrugged her shoulders and went to help the men with the canvas as Iseult called Tristran over to help tending the deceasing fire. A few minutes later the shelter was finally standing, keeping out most of the rain and the fire grew until it was fit to cook over again.

By now most of the adult population of the tribe had gathered, and some of the children as well, to get their breakfast. The casserole was still more like a soup than anything, but the bread was baked and both warmed in the wet weather.

As Iseult served Tristran his food she noticed the cloak and broke into a large grin. She recognized it for the previous evening when he sister had worn it.

« We should have traded those bear hides for metal » muttered Drejan as if out of the blue when a particularly large bolt of lightening hit one of the iron poles. « We could have had at least five good swords for tempering. »

Tristran couldn't help to arch an eyebrow and glance over at Isolde. His statement seemed so random he couldn't help wondering if the man was a bit mad.

« We stick swords hilt down into the ground during thunder storms » explained Isolde to Tristran's unspoken question. They were sitting close together under the shade, eating their meal in relative quiet save for the storm. « When lightening strikes the blade it makes them stronger. »

« A Sarmatian custom? » Tristran ask softly, he couldn't remember much of his home.

Isolde nodded, offering him a piece of her bread when she saw he was out and he took it gracefully awaiting her answer. « Sarmatian blades are well sought after. Apart from skins and horses, that is what this tribe barter with. »

« And your own tribe » he asked, « What do you barter with? »

« We have no dealings with the Romans, East or West » said she, not able to keep a small smile out of her voice, something which was highly unusual for her. « Only when we make war with the border governors. »

« Better not tell Arthur that » he answered, a tiny smile of his own giving colour to his voice.

- - -

The bare steppe land of the east had never truly given good protection from anything, yet it was home for so many. Its sky and its earth were gods due to their might, stretching on for ever it always seemed, always until you reached the edge and for ever was not long enough.

During days when lightening split the sky and thunder rolled in the hills it was as far from safe as could possibly be. Days such as the one that was was down right dangerous and the only protection they had were the tall iron bars stuck into the ground around the camp. Even though physics were a term strange to their ears experience had taught them that lightening always stroke the highest point, and especially if that point was metal.

Still, even if the poles protected them none felt it too safe to walk outdoors. Days when thunder and lightening played chase across the sky were days best spent indoors, doing small things as mending shirts or making dagger scabbards.

Inside Iseult's and Drejan's hut, in the middle of the large foreroom where Isolde and Tristran had spent the previous night, was large copper saucer holding burning coal. Around it was all who at this moment were considered family — or were so at least in the eyes of both Iseult and her husband as well as their two children, if either Isolde or Tristran considered the latter family they didn't say so out loud — doing some kind of indoor work.

Iseult was making arrows while Drejan fixed a scabbard that was falling apart, Jasna was making herself a doll out of leftover cloths and Zdravko was practically lying in Tristran's lap while the man was mending clothes. The latter was a perfectionist and you could only see there had been a tear in the first place if you looked close enough. The young boy's happiness over their prolonged visit amused Isolde to no end, though it only showed as a slight twinkle in her eyes whenever an aggravated Tristran caught her eye. She was continuing a leather work Drejan had started long ago, braiding thin leather straps together to a jacket for Zdravko.

Sitting in that hut with men doing women's work doing men's work and the other way around, made Tristran reflect over how very different the two cultures really were, and how easy it was to forget only to remember by being in the middle of it.

He couldn't help but to mention it to the woman next to him, « Sarmatia is so very different from Britain » he said sotto voce. « You never know you miss it until you're back. »

« I will have to take your word for it » she replied, turning her head slightly to look at him while her fingers still played over the leather and braiding it. « But tell me: How so? »

Isolde already knew before he shook his head and said not only the obvious, I can't explain, but you'll see that he would not answer the question. She was however not prepared for her brother-in-law's comment that followed their hush toned exchange.

« Aren't you like a tiny family – now aren't you cute! » Drejan boomed with a huge grin on his face, making Zdravko squeal in delight and snaking himself more into Tristran's lap making the silent man frown to no avail. « What are you two whispering about? »

Before anyone could answer anything Iseult replied by jabbing her husband in the arm. He wasn't helping any in her mind, just embarrassing the two who would probably try to deny any feelings whatsoever even more by it.

- - -

As it is with all weather, it passes no matter how nasty it is, and so was the case this this spring storm as well. By midday the rain was still dripping down, but it was a soft spring rain and no longer anything unmanageable.

Once again Tristran and Isolde packed their horses with a Sarmatian family as an audience, but this time there was no sobbing which was rather nice the two silently decided. The only distraction from their task at hand had been Iseult's and Zdravko's pleas about them staying one extra night, but those had soon died down when as the pair effectively ignored them.

Isolde hugged her brother-in-law, nephew and niece goodbye before she was pulled into her older sister's tight embrace and held there for moments that seemed to drag out into eternity before the woman decided to take a small step back and speak.

« May the gods bless your journey and keep you safe » she told her little sister and Tristran, then she leaned towards Isolde and whispered with a smile on her lips and a mischievous twinkle in her eye: « Visit soon – bring Tristran. »

- - -

The two rode until sunset and beyond, it was long after nightfall the two finally decide to stop and break for camp. By now it had become almost a routine, them silently dividing the chores between them and carrying them out almost soundlessly. Once again Tristran was preparing food and Isolde taking care of the horses, but neither minded it the other way around as well.

« What did you sister mean? » Tristran asked after a while when she was spread both their bedrolls on the ground and was otherwise finished with her part.

They both knew what he was alluding to, even though he wasn't supposed to have heard, but nothing about this man would ever suprise Isolde. He was like a great mystery, yet he was as plain as daylight.

« Not only the eyes of a hawk, but the hearing of one as well » she praised with a half sarcastic, half ernest tone to her voice.

He was moving around behind her back she could hear, but at that moment the texture of her bedroll seemed far more interesting.

« Nothing, she's half mad and imagines things » answered Isolde, rising but not turning to face him, her eyes still firm on the brownish cloth on the ground.

« I don't think so » he replied, sounding very near and she had to turn around just to find out how near.

Her objection got stuck in her throat when she came up face to face with Tristran; he was standing even closer than she imagined. They are so close together they were touching and once again she was lost for words – liquid eyes stealing them from her before they even reached her mind.

He cuped her face with both his hands and leaned in to kiss her softly on the lips before repeating his words again, « I don't think so. »

It was not a magical kiss, they never seem to be, but still it managed to wreak turmoil in Isolde's soul. And while her world tumbled down around her Tristran took away his hands and calmly walked back to the fire and poured two cups of tea for them, offering one to her as if nothing ever happened.

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A/N: These half stressed chapters seems to be an ongoing trend of mine, seeing as last one was one too. I'm sorry, and aside from that it's really short... Sorry again. I've been too caught up in life off the computer lately and have only had time to write sporadically, which has made this chapter feel a bit like a patchwork. I'll try to have the next chapter up quicker, and to speed this journey along so they can finally get to Britain!

Once again, it's not as well read through as I wish it to be and there might be a few spelling errors that the spellchecker's taken for correct (seeing as it can't understand I might mean so when I write do , etcetera).

Castor and Pollux are two half brothers/twins in greek myth who loved each other very much (they are the constellation Gemini). When Castor (who was mortal) died Pollux (who was an immortal) went to his father, Zeus, and begged to share in his brother's death. Zeus took pity on the him and let Castor share half his life with his Pollux, so that they would be allowed to live half their lives on earth and half in heaven. Though, it has been wildly debated weather they are always together or always apart, ie. one in heaven while the other's on earth. I personally think they are always together and this is my story.  
Yes, I've read the sword tempering thing somewhere. I think it was an old paper written by some Professor who was discussing the Arthurian myth all the while talking about the connection between Magyar culture and the Sarmatian.

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**A very big THANK YOU to all my lovely reviewers:**  
**_LANCELOTTRISTANBABY_**_, **op, newsieskane, stephanie, Priestess of the Myrmidon, sarmatian-woman, June Birdie, Lauraine, Sandies **and** A.k. Anonymous**_.

newsieskane: When I finally get my ass in gear it doesn't take all that long for me to finish writing a chapter, mainly because I have most of it already made up in my head. Thank you (smiles) Once they're back in Britain the real drama can begin and then I'll have more characters to reflect the two against, too.

Priestess of the Myrmidon: Defenitely you should (grins)

Sandies: Thank you for a GREAT review! And once again I dragged out on the time – but it hasn't been as long as last time (at least there's something). I'm happy you like the way I'm writing Tristran, I just hope I didn't destroy him in this chapter; I somehow feel I have, though, I'm not entirely sure how. I'm glad you like it, I'm always slightly afraid that the way I mix history, myth, knowledge and my own ideas will stick out the wrong way – happy that isn't the case. / Yes you certainly must, Mads is a great actor! Though, I hope you don't mind subtitles too much because most of his movies are Danish (but they're generally great nonetheless).

A.k. Anonymous: You're all too kind (smiles) I'm happy I managed to capture Isolde's and Tristran's relationship the way you imagined it, I hope I haven't spoiled it with this chapter.

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**_Please, please, PLEASE REVIEW! It really makes my day and gives me loads of shiny new inspiration to keep me continuing writing._**


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